Sugar, we're going down
by shimmeryshine
Summary: Castle and Beckett go undercover in a club and things get a bit out of hand when they get cornered in the bathroom. A twist on a well loved trope, if you will.


**a/n:** For **Cora Clavia**, who is super fantastic and asked me to write this because she didn't feel like it, so I did. The End. (I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!)

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><p><strong>sugar, we're going down<strong>

(insert blowjob joke here)

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><p>She needs to stop letting him tag along on cases like this, cases where he's entirely too close and she's entirely too distracted to <em>do her job<em>. She's just crossed that line between stealthy peeks and too much eye contact with Garrett Blackwell, the lead suspect in the homicide she's investigating, the one they're supposed to be covertly keeping an eye on. Castle's got his palm spanned across her lower back though, his chest pressed to hers, thumping club music surrounding them with a beat that is entirely too reminiscent of the rhythms of _other_ activities, and she's just single handedly given them away like a rookie.

She only has a second before Blackwell is moving toward them, picking through the crowd with his heavy black boots carving a path through writhing bodies, and they really, really have to get off the dance floor. She steps closer to Castle as he continues to move obliviously in front of her, whispers _take me to the bathroom_ urgently into his ear while letting her other hand drag up his back and then she's dropping an open mouthed kiss to his neck, setting up the ground work for her escape plan. _Their_escape plan.

She can feel his throat contract in surprise; they're just supposed to be dancing, her rules. "What, why?" He stumbles a little bit as her hips sway closer to his than they've been all night, skirting on the edge of grinding, and he can't help his own reaction, the way his fingers splay against her hip, squeezing, keeping her there, helping her come closer.

"I think Blackwell just made us, come on Castle," she's shoving him then and all he can do is grab her hand and pull her in the direction of the sketchy looking bathroom near the back of the club. There are stickers all over the door, band logos and beverage names, splotches of multicolored paint flicked on where old paint is peeling. There's no gender label anywhere to be found so he just pushes through, feeling Beckett crowding him from behind, making him urgent.

"Now what do we -" he starts to say, but then she's backing him into a stall, door creaking loudly on its hinges as his body forces it open and he almost falls into the toilet. His arms shoot out to the sides to catch himself, barely managing it as she pushes even closer to him.

"Sit down," she hisses, kicking the toilet seat down with her foot and giving him a strong shove to his shoulders. He obeys with a slight grimace (public restrooms, _ew_) and then she's climbing into his lap and he doesn't know what to _do_with his hands.

They both pause for a minute as Beckett perches on his thighs, far enough away from anywhere sensitive for him to maintain a modicum of control but still so, so close. She's listening to see if they've been followed, he knows, can tell by the way she cocks her head, ear straining for sound. Her bare thighs are tense around his and he tries valiantly not to think about them wrapped around his waist as his hands fight to not touch her, but then the sound of heavy boot steps in the hall come echoing into the room and her gaze slides down to lock with his.

"We're going to have to sell this," she whispers sharply, eyes looking bright, partly from mild panic and partly from...something else he can't quite figure out. They look like molten chocolate.

"Okay," he whispers dumbly, has no idea what they're going to be "selling" until she suddenly swoops down to capture his lips with her own. It's a shallow kiss, this first one, pulling at his lips, leaving him unconsciously following her mouth as she pulls away.

"Kick the door shut after he walks in, okay?" she breathes into his ear as she noses across his cheek, scoots farther up his thighs. "But not too quick, let him see what we're doing."

"What _are_we doing?" he chokes a little bit, can feel her smile against his ear lobe.

"Haven't you ever had sex in a bathroom stall in a club, Castle?"

"Have _you_?" Her sideways smile is enigmatic and then the door to the bathroom bounces open before he can press and he lunges for her mouth in what he hopes is a "selling it" kind of way.

She grunts into his mouth as they connect and she's not even holding back at _all_, her lips parting wetly for him immediately and then somehow her tongue is dragging across the roof of his mouth and the low groan he releases is not pretending at _all_.

One of his hands presses its way into her lower back as she leans closer, her mouth sliding against his jaw and then she's breathing _the door_into his ear in this desperate little gasp that his brain wants to file away for all eternity, and he somehow manages to control his limbs enough to kick the door shut.

They stop kissing long enough for Beckett to catch sight of Blackwell's heavy boots next to their stall and then she's back to him, all to Castle, staring him right in the eye. "He's not leaving," she mouths, and then she's biting her lip, thinking. Castle's hand comes up to tangle in the hair over her ear as she does, pulling her in.

"He's watching us through the crack," he says against her mouth.

She hovers against his lips, her words tumbling into his mouth as she breathes _be convincing_, and then she's sliding the rest of the way up his legs to land snugly in his lap. The second she settles there he feels her start for a moment, feeling the weight of him between her legs, his obvious reaction to this ruse. His hands fist in her hair as he cups the back of her head, tilting her just enough to aggressively bring his tongue into play.

"Not going to be a problem," he mumbles, only for her.

It's fast then, shallow kisses turn deep and she starts rolling her hips exaggeratedly against his, loosing a breathy groan that goes right to his dick, putting on a show because they're being _watched_, and he can't be sure but he suspects very, very much that this entire scenario is completely getting her off.

He pulls his mouth from hers to suck a trail across her jaw as they both hear the bathroom door open again, the music from the dance floor spilling in and then muffling again as it shuts, a small cluster of intoxicated women filling in. Blackwell moves to the side of their stall, she can see his boots shift position, he doesn't want to be caught peeping at them with other people in the bathroom. He's not leaving though.

"Should we try to escape?" Castle whispers into her ear, and he feels her fingers twist into his shirt at his voice so close to her skin. Blackwell's eyes aren't on them but her hips don't still completely.

"He'll just follow us out. I don't have my gun, Castle." He can _tell_, since her legs are all but clamped around his middle, every single inch of her plastered to him. He's pretty sure he could describe the pattern on her barely there underwear if asked.

"Up the ante?" he tries instead, letting one of his fingers trail presumptuously up her naked thigh. Her dress is pushed so far up it might as well not be there at all. He watches her swallow thickly, nod. She doesn't scoot closer though, doesn't lean back in to kiss him, doesn't unzip his pants, doesn't do any of the things he expects because she's suddenly backing off of him and then _kneeling_ _on the floor_ in between his legs. He starts to ask _what_, but she brings a finger in front of her lips, shushing him silently, eyes flashing. She points to Blackwell's feet, knows that if she's on the floor like that, kneeling there, it's not a far leap to infer what she's doing to him. It's an easy sell.

Castle nods more times than is necessary, trying trying trying to keep himself under control. The sight of her there, lips swollen, hair mussed, eyes bright is making him _crazy_ and she hasn't even touched him yet. He watches her take a deep breath, eye the obvious bulge in his jeans, flick her gaze up to his face. He thinks he should be embarrassed, but it's more than a little bit exhilarating to not have to hide his body's reaction to her. If anything she seems to be emboldened by it, not shying away at all. He doesn't try to hold in the groan that comes spilling out of his mouth as she starts raking her nails up and down his thighs, letting the man outside their stall hear what she does to him, letting _Beckett_ hear what she does to him. She lets out a matching breathy little moan that he's pretty sure escaped without her permission and is on the _real_ side of pretending. Everything they do is laced with this thing between them, nothing ever black and white.

He watches her take a deep breath, watches her cleavage heave a little bit, and then she's leaning forward, letting the curtain of her hair drape his lap, giving her a little bit of cover. It's genius really, if she moves her head just so, no one watching would know that she's only faking it, that she doesn't _really_ have her mouth wrapped around him, and that's what she does, at first. Her head is bobbing a little bit, one hand pressed to the inside of his thigh, moving up and down but not where he wants it. His eyes are glued to her, the top of her head moving up and down and he feels like he's imagined this a thousand times and suddenly his brain is giving him x rated visions of her doing every dirty thing he's ever dreamed of except this is _real_ and it would be so easy to get lost in it, lost in her.

He swears her name as he sees Blackwell's boots move, but he's only repositioning himself in front of their stall again so he can see them, now that the other women have left, and Castle only has a second to pull on her hair to let her know. "_He's watching,_" he hisses, playing it off as a sharp gasp as Beckett's eyes meet his, the hand fisted in the back of her hair making her eyes lose focus. She stares at him then, just for a second, and he can see her mind ticking away behind the chocolate of her eyes, and then she's suddenly sliding her entire palm up the front of his jeans and he almost climbs the wall behind him at the feel of it. His eyes slide closed and he groans loudly, unsure if it's for Blackwell or for _her_ but then his zipper is sliding down and she's got him in her hand and he wants to just live in this moment for forever because he doesn't know how long it's going to _last_. She pinches the inside of his thigh sharply until he looks at her again, eyes dropping to her fist wrapped around him before they settle on her face, her eyes holding a question that she really, really does not need to ask. He nods at her subtly, groaning _yes_ into their stall and then her hot mouth is on him, around him, tongue working, head moving, thumb rubbing up the underside of him and he can't help but rest his hand on the back of her head and just _give in_.

She groans obscenely around his length, working him like the pro he knew she'd be, that fucking _mouth_ ruining him with every hollowing of her cheeks. He's never going to be able to speak to her again. Somehow through his haze of lust he notices Blackwell's boots move away from their stall, retreat through the door, and he leans forward trying to see through the crack if he is well and truly gone. Beckett rocks back on her heels at his forward movement, pressing him back down onto the seat with a strong hand, pulling her mouth away with a soft pop that makes him groan again.

"You're too big to do that," she huffs, out of breath, misinterpreting his movement as _intentional_ and he sees the pink rise in her cheeks when she realizes what she's just said.

Instead of acknowledging it though, he gestures weakly toward the door. "He's gone. Good work with the," he points to his lap, "selling it." The look on his face is pained, she can see how uncomfortably turned on he is _really_ clearly. The sound he makes when she leans back in to drag her tongue across him is priceless.

"_Beckett_," he swears, fingers wrapping around her bare upper arm for purchase.

"You can't walk out of here like this, Castle." It's _true_, but he doesn't want this to be some kind of weird obligation.

"You don't have to, I can – "

"Just let me _finish_."

She sounds so _bossy_ and he's already so far gone that he can only release her arm and let her finish him, let her bruise those perfect knees and take him with her mouth, kill him one slow suck at a time.

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><p>It's two days later when Castle's perched in his usual chair next to Beckett's desk, only he's dragged it around so he's knee to knee with her, staring over her shoulder at her computer screen as the faces of brown haired, brown eyed ex-cons flick by. They're looking for someone that matches the description one of their witnesses gave in their statement, clicking away until Esposito stops at the corner of her desk, holding onto a paper clipped stack of paperwork. He drops it smugly down onto her desk and all they can see is "GARRETT BLACKWELL – INTERROGATION TRANSCRIPT".<p>

Beckett gulps.

Castle shrinks back from her.

"You should make photo copies," Esposito says, pausing dramatically and leaning over her desk to level them with a knowing smirk. "For your next book."

He walks away smugly, shaking his head at the two of them and then Beckett is picking up the thick stack of paper and swatting him on the arm with it.

"Don't you dare even ask."

"I don't need to read that to remember _every single detail_," he breathes, enunciating every word with flick of his tongue against his teeth. She's flushing a little bit as he picks the stack out of her fingers, using her distraction to his advantage, opening her drawer and sliding the document inside. "For later," he says, winking at her.

"I hate you," she says as she pushes away from her desk, stalking into the break room for coffee and some space from him.

"No you don't!" His sing song voice carries it's way across the precinct and she shoots daggers at him over her shoulder as Ryan and Esposito try not to lose it at their desks.

"No she doesn't."


End file.
